


Luck of the Irish

by SBG



Series: New Life [3]
Category: Emergency!
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBG/pseuds/SBG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the weeks following the anniversary of Joanne's death, Johnny wants only to make things better for Roy. He just isn't sure how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of the Irish

**Author's Note:**

> I promise, the stories in this universe aren't all going to be about the impact of Joanne's death. Also, unbetaed - so if you spot a typo, it's okay to tell me. :)

eEe

The Fire Pit was a well worn, slightly grungy bar, and common firefighter hangout. Roy DeSoto was many things, but none of them had ever been common. He rarely went out with the guys there after a long shift, neither before nor after Joanne died. Before, he’d been the classic family man with too many responsibilities, and an age beyond his actual years. After, he had chosen quiet grief over getting plastered several times a week; his family needed him too much for him to develop new, unhealthy coping mechanisms. A beer now and again in his own backyard was and had always been the extent of Roy’s drinking habits. Johnny Gage knew exactly why Roy was at The Fire Pit now, cozied up to the bar like he lived there, but it still set him on edge a bit. The whole week had had him on tenterhooks. He wouldn’t pretend he could imagine how it’d been for Roy, who’d retreated into himself just like he had a year ago.

As he approached, he studied his partner. Johnny didn’t know which was greener – Roy’s face, or the nearly empty mug of beer in front of him. Though he would have appreciated the guy cutting Roy off much sooner, John flicked a quick glance and head bob to Ike behind the bar, silent thanks for the call. Ike shook his head, nodded to the right. Johnny turned, saw Mike Stoker sitting at a table in the corner with a bunch of guys Johnny didn’t recognize, civilian friends. 

Music filled the dim space, raucous with fiddles, flutes and pipes and gaudy decorations declared everyone Irish today. At a rapid glance, everyone looked to be having a grand old time. Johnny envied them. He didn’t feel much like dancing a jig and had never felt less Irish in his life, and certainly didn’t feel that stereotypical luck tonight. He hadn’t felt that luck for weeks, if he were honest. He’d expected it, but it still ached deep into his soul and he felt lonely from the weight of it. Stoker looked up, saw him, gave him a half smile, sort of sad and sort of knowing. Mike was a good man, one of the best Johnny had ever known. He nodded, lifted a hand in hello.

He drew back the stool next to Roy’s and perched on it, did nothing to announce his presence. He was still working out how to get Roy out of there without upsetting him too much. John knew it had been an intensely rough few weeks for Roy, and knew too from job and personal experience that drunk people weren’t easy to gauge. It didn’t matter that he knew Roy better than he knew himself most days. This might not be Roy, exactly. Johnny smiled at Ike when the bartender slid him a glass of water and a steaming cup of coffee. He doubted either would help all that much, not for the reasons Roy was trying to drown his sorrows.

Roy drummed the bar with the fingertips of his right hand, and said, “‘nother.”

Ike slid Johnny an inscrutable look, a cue. Johnny went with lighthearted ribbing.

“Ah, Roy,” Johnny said, “I think maybe you’ve got enough in you right now to start your own brewery.”

Roy looked at him, sloppy surprise on his face. Eyes normally bright and clear were bloodshot and bleary. For one brief moment, there was nothing but pure joy on that beautiful face. The next, a scowl took its place. 

“What’re you doing here, Junior?” Roy asked.

Junior. That was a rare nickname made even rarer after he and Roy had started seeing each other, loving each other. John had never minded it much, but he’d also never liked it much. He was certain Roy had never meant it to be derogatory, a passive way to assert dominance in their partnership; the connotation had always been there anyway. John was not as oblivious as he let on. Affectionate tone went a long way in making the nickname tolerable. Here and now, there was nothing passive about the assertion, and he knew. He knew Roy was grieving. He knew Roy was drunk. He knew the Roy he knew didn’t mean what he said the way he said it. He also knew it was Roy’s way of warning him off. Well, that was tough. Johnny wasn’t that easy to shake, especially when it came to Roy.

“Looking out for my partner, that’s all.”

The call had made panic flutter through his gut, which Johnny thought he’d managed to contain to internal reaction only as he he’d called Roy’s neighbor Ida Mae over to watch the kids for a few minutes. That initial panic hadn’t truly faded, surged back up. 

“You don’t have to look out for me. You’re not my wife, Johnny.” Roy’s snarl was unkind, uncharacteristic, as mean drunk as it was sad drunk. 

“Aw, shit, Roy,” Johnny muttered, more to himself than anyone. He pretended not to notice Ike’s expression go from careful disinterest to plain pity. “You … let’s get something besides booze in you, huh? Have some water.”

“Not my wife,” Roy said again, shook his head. He gave Johnny a grim smile. “Because my wife is _dead_.”

Johnny didn’t know why he’d expected this to be easier on Roy. He guessed he’d thought Roy was happy with him, and that it would be enough to make this first anniversary, and the weeks following it, more bearable. Wasn’t it an eye-opening kick in the pants to realize he wasn’t quite as important as he’d let himself believe? 

“I know I’m not.” John put his left hand on Roy’s shoulder, squeezed it gently. “And I know she is.”

“Johnny.” Roy blinked at him, all the mean draining out of him suddenly, until he looked so, so bereft and small. “I still feel too much. Need more beer.”

What Johnny wanted to do was wrap his arms around Roy and hug him until everything was better. It was a stupid impulse, because in the grand scheme hugs couldn’t fix much, and clearly he wasn’t a miracle balm for Roy’s wounds. Johnny might try the hugging later anyway, and not just for Roy’s benefit. The reminders of Roy’s life with Joanne hadn’t been easy on him, either, and since Roy was his solace, he was exhausted from his own grief. 

“Come on, drink this instead,” Johnny said. He pushed the glass of water into Roy’s hands. It didn’t matter how combative Roy got, Johnny wasn’t going to leave his side until he was sober. And not after that, either. It just wasn’t going to happen. “I called your neighbor to sit with the kids for a bit, but we should get you home, huh?”

Johnny remained both surprised and selfishly pleased that Roy hadn’t tried for a promotion or taken a desk job after all this time. His partner had a pretty good support system in place for taking care of his kids while he was on duty. Between Roy’s parents, Joanne’s parents and family and neighbors, there was rarely a need for emergency babysitting like tonight. Johnny had been lucky Ida Mae was apparently as Irish as he was, and had been ready, willing and able at the barest hint of shamelessly abused Gage charm. He was lucky that Ida Mae had a not-so-secret crush on him, because after the way Roy abruptly left Jenny and Chris and Johnny at the dinner table, he hadn’t felt too charming.

“Don’t,” Roy said, then hiccupped a little. “Don’t want to go home.”

For a moment, Johnny considered hauling Roy to his apartment instead. He didn’t think Chris and Jenny needed to see their dad like this, an angry and broken drunk. They’d had a rough week of it already, themselves. The anniversary of Joanne’s accident was like a living, breathing entity in the DeSoto household, her ghost returning stronger than it had been in months. Johnny understood all that, was the thing, understood and had his own brand of heartache over it, and he realized he wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors by hiding Roy’s pain away from his own kids. 

“Drink the water, Roy,” Johnny said. He took the coffee for himself, sipping the beverage. It was going to be a long night. “Maybe eat a few pretzels, soak up some of that beer.”

“You’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?” Roy groused.

“Nope. You can bank on that.”

Roy tapped his fingernails on the water glass, then deliberately slid it aside and reached for the remainder of his last beer. He chugged that down in a few swallows and glared at Johnny, his expression exactly like those found on his own children when they were pouting. He tried to flag Ike down for another beer, but Ike suddenly became very busy at the far end of the bar. 

“Hey,” Johnny said, leaning in to speak in Roy’s ear quietly. “Hey, I know you’re hurting. I know you want the pain to go away, but this isn’t the best way. Please trust me on this – you’ve had enough. What you need now is to sleep it off. Come on, Pally, you know this.”

Roy shook his head again and gave Johnny a bleak look, full of sorrow but it was tempered with something unnamable as well, like Johnnyny just didn’t get it. He wasn’t exactly wrong, there. Roy reluctantly took a drink of water, then another until the glass was empty. That, Ike had no problem refilling. 

They sat side by side, Johnny brushing his shoulder against Roy’s every once in a while to remind him he wasn’t alone, as Roy drank another glass of water and ate a handful of pretzels. Johnny didn’t want to push Roy too fast, but he hoped that since the meanness had fizzled so fast that Roy would be ready in a few minutes. He sneaked a look over to where Mike sat, caught the other man watching them cautiously. When Mike met his gaze with a questioning head tilt toward Roy, Johnny waved off what he took as a silent offer of help. 

“You ready to head home now?” Johnny asked as he gave Roy’s shoulder a more forceful bump. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

Roy’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d been crying instead of drinking, or was _about_ to cry. All the more reason to get the hell out of there. One public display of uncharacteristic behavior was enough for one night. Johnny collected and paid for Roy’s substantial tab, frowning at the amount owed unhappily. He slid off the stool the same time Roy did, watching his partner for signs he might fall flat on his face. Roy wobbled a bit, so, better safe than sorry, he lifted one of Roy’s arms and draped it across his shoulder. By the time they made it to the door, Johnny was bearing a good portion of Roy’s weight. Home, some aspirin and another glass of water, and Roy might not wake up to wish he hadn’t woken up.

The ride to Roy’s was silent save for the thrum of the tires against the asphalt and slight snuffling snores from the passenger seat. Johnny kept an eye on Roy, periodically giving his partner a quick look to make sure he wasn’t going to wake and throw up. He made it home in record time, and only when he was wrangling Roy into the house did he pause to think about Roy’s truck left at the bar. That was a problem for tomorrow. 

“Oh dear,” Ida Mae whispered as Johnny hauled Roy through the front door. “I’ll get the aspirin.”

“Thanks,” Johnny said. 

He chewed his lip for a moment, tried to decide where to put Roy. The master bedroom was upstairs and Roy’s limbs were noodly and limp. The guy wasn’t light, and a firefighter’s carry might induce vomiting. Still, the thought of the kids waking in the morning to find Roy passed out on the sofa wasn’t a nice one. Ida Mae came to his rescue when she came back with water and a bottle of aspirin from the kitchen. After she ignored Roy’s grumbles and gently forced a couple pills down Roy’s throat, she set the glass on the floor and slid into place on Roy’s other side.

“Upstairs?” She gave Johnny a soft look. “He’ll be more comfortable, maybe.”

Maybe. Maybe not. It was difficult to tell whether sleeping in the bed Roy had shared with Joanne for so many years would be comfortable or a brutal, early-morning reminder of things lost. Johnny half-smiled. And things gained, he thought to himself. He and Roy had done some things in that bed in the last month or so, careful moments snared just for them, that he had hoped would cancel out some of the bittersweet associations. The debate was purely academic. Roy’s bed was the only good option.

“You need anything else?” Ida Mae asked as she helped arrange Roy’s floppy legs and pulled off his shoes without an ounce of judgment. “I can stay if you want.”

“No, but thank you,” Johnny said, gave her a smile. “I’ll sack out on the couch downstairs and make sure he and the kids are okay in the morning.”

“You’re a sweet man, a good friend. Roy’s been so lucky to have you.”

That hit Johnny in the gut for some reason and he had to keep himself from hunching in reaction. He said nothing, but nodded once. He walked Ida Mae to the front door, locked it behind her and finally let out a heavy sigh that only partially relieved what had been building for days. He wanted to go upstairs and curl around Roy, hold him through the worst of the pain – hangover and otherwise. It killed him that he couldn’t do that, not without risking one of the kids seeing them. He and Roy had both agreed, much as it bled their souls, that what they shared could only be theirs for the moment. Maybe, someday, they could be open. Maybe, Johnny was just glad he saw a someday in them.

He got his own boots off and sprawled face down on the sofa, wrapped himself in the memory of sharing that space with Roy their first time. He drifted to sleep with a soft smile on his face.

And woke the sound of retching. Johnny sat up on full alert, as he’d been trained to do so long ago. For a brief flash, he didn’t remember where he was but quickly oriented himself. The DeSoto family room was still dark, which meant he hadn’t been out for too long. He threw himself off the sofa and made for the stairs, stopping at the linen closet in the hall for a fresh washcloth before he entered the large bathroom across the hall from the master bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to find Roy kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting the green-tinged beer he’d drunk all night. 

“Oh, Roy,” Johnny said. 

He wet the washcloth with cool water, wrung it out and then wormed his way behind Roy, leaning to cup Roy’s forehead with one hand while he placed the wet cloth on the nape of Roy’s neck. Roy moaned piteously. Johnny winced in sympathy, hated that Roy was in such a world of hurt physically now as well as emotionally. Though he’d known both were coming, it didn’t bother him any less. He watched Roy shakily reach for the flusher and depress it, as he slouched down, resting Johnny’s hand and his own forehead against the toilet seat. Johnny instinctively moved his hand off the wet cloth to rub gentle circles across Roy’s shoulders. 

He was about to ask if his partner was ready to head back to bed when Roy lifted his head and started heaving again. Johnny loved the man, he did, and would do anything for him, but that didn’t make this any less disgusting. 

“You’ll feel better once this part is over,” he murmured, and fought his own gag reflex. It didn’t matter how many years he was a paramedic, some things simply got to him. Or, maybe it was that it was Roy in distress, not some junkie or ill stranger. “Get it all out.”

Roy just groaned, gagged, and shuddered under Johnny’s hands through whichever round of vomiting he was on. Johnny extricated from their intimately uncomfortable tangle of limbs and stretched to run the washcloth under the cold water tap again. As he laid it back on Roy’s nape, he caught movement from the doorway out of the corner of his eye. He glanced toward it, saw little Jenny standing there, all sleepy eyes and rumpled nightgown.

“Uncle Johnny?” Jenny said, voice wavering. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

At six, Jenny was the perfect combination of Roy and Joanne. She had Roy’s blue eyes and Joanne’s sweet mouth, a dash of freckles across her nose, strawberry blonde hair. For a second or two, all Johnny could think of was that holiday special with the Grinch and his own Cindy Lou Who who’d stumbled onto something she wasn’t supposed to have witnessed.

“Your daddy’s got a bit of a tummyache, that’s all,” Johnny said. He looked down at Roy, who didn’t seem to be aware of either him or Jenny at the moment. “He’ll be all right, sweethea…”

The doorway was vacant. It was as if Jenny had never been there. Johnny hoped she’d been more than half asleep and had gone back to bed. Speaking of bed, Roy’s retching had trailed off to painful dry heaves. Johnny prepped a cup of water, then eased Roy to his feet.

“Rinse.” He handed the cup to Roy, watched his partner docilely swish water around his mouth and spit it into the basin. If this wasn’t love… “Let’s see if we can get you to sleep the rest of this off.”

He hovered behind Roy, careful not to crowd as they shuffled to the master bedroom. They’d barely crossed the threshold when the six-year-old sprite was back, a green glass bottle of 7Up in one hand and a packet of saltine crackers in the other. She stared between Johnny and Roy. Jenny moved deeper into the room, set the crackers and soda on the small nightstand on the side of the bed Roy still slept on.

“Mommy always said these helped a sore tummy,” she said. “And Mommy was always right.” 

The lump in Johnny’s throat formed and grew instantly to an enormous mass. He tried to swallow past it, so he could say something, anything in the silence that followed Jenny’s proclamation. It didn’t work, so he guided Roy to lie down on the bed. Jenny was right there, patting Roy’s face with a gentle hand. She kissed his nose. Johnny closed his eyes tightly for a moment, unable to take the emotion welling in him. 

“Thank you, honey,” Roy whispered, voice constricted by what must have been a very similar lump in his throat.

Johnny opened his eyes and found Jenny had curled up next to Roy in the middle of the bed. He didn’t have the heart to shoo her back to her own room and hoped Roy’s bouts of vomiting were over. Jenny was young enough she might not realize that her father was hung over, not sick with the flu. He retreated to go find more aspirin in the bathroom medicine cabinet, figured that another dose might not be a bad idea. He trudged back to the bedroom with the medication in hand, saw to it that Roy took a couple more pills and got him settled. The picture of Jenny snuggled up with Roy was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. He left them there, intent on heading back to the family room sofa.

“Where are you going, Uncle Johnny?” Jenny asked sleepily. “Stay here.”

“Aw, sweetheart, I don’t think I should,” Johnny whispered, but oh he wanted. 

“Don’t be silly.” Jenny sat up, pointed to the empty space next to her. “Everyone knows that ‘sides 7Up and crackers, the fastest way to feel better is to have the people you care about right next to you. I know you care about my daddy, because I saw you helping him when he was sick and you’re always here helping all of us.”

At the heart of it, Johnny just couldn’t ever say no to Jenny and she knew it. Everyone knew it. He sneaked a glance at Roy, who appeared to be sound asleep, so he shrugged and moved to the far side of the bed. He kept his clothes on and stayed on top of the covers, and that seemed to satisfy Jenny. Before he knew it, he was falling asleep himself.

He woke with a mouthful of long hair and the feeling of being watched. In the night, John had turned onto his side, so that he was facing Roy, who had also turned inward. Jenny lay between them. Roy stared at him with eyes still somewhat bleary, a soft but unreadable expression on his face. Johnny blushed, shrugged one shoulder and reached to smooth back Roy’s unruly hair. It was nice. It felt right, like this was how he was supposed to wake up every day. 

“Mornin’,” he whispered. 

Roy blinked in response and then reality reasserted itself via a small foot to Johnny’s groin. He yanked his hand from Roy’s hair and rolled onto his back, hissing in discomfort. Right. Okay. He checked the time and nudged Jenny awake.

“Hey, Jenny, time to get ready for school.”

Jenny grumbled and tried to go back to sleep. After no small amount of prodding, Johnny got her up and headed for her own room. He gave Roy a quick look, smiled to see his partner had already gone back to sleep, and went about getting both DeSoto children through their morning routines. He didn’t know much about those routines, but since Joanne’s passing, both Chris and Jenny were responsible, sad little mini-grown ups as they dutifully brushed teeth and hair and picked out clothes that mostly matched, all on their own. He attempted to make them pancakes and couldn’t eat any himself as he watched them, only started to get hungry after he’d walked the kids out to the end of the driveway for the bus to come get them. 

The shower was running when he got back into the house to clean up the kitchen. No matter how careful Johnny thought he was being, it always looked like an explosion had taken place when he tried to cook. After a few minutes of scrubbing charred pancake out of a skillet, he gave up and let it soak, chose instead to brew coffee he and Roy could both probably use. Once he made sure Roy was okay mentally and physically, he supposed he should head to his apartment. He leaned on the sink, stared out the kitchen window. He wished he could stay in this house. It was one wish on a long list, the first being that he wished he could make things better for Roy, wished Roy could be happy again like he’d been a month ago. 

“Hey,” Roy said.

Startled, Johnny turned and found Roy propped against the kitchen threshold, wearing faded jeans and an untucked plaid shirt, arms crossed. He looked a little worse for wear, but not nearly as hung over as any normal human being should have been after an intense bender. It had only been beer, that was probably it.

“Feeling okay?” Johnny asked. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Roy accepted the cup Johnny offered and sat. He eyed the burned pancake corpses left on the table, grabbed one, doused it with syrup and ate it like it wasn’t the disgusting thing it was. “Mmph.”

Silence that wasn’t completely comfortable blanketed the kitchen. Johnny nursed his coffee, contemplated prodding Roy about last night’s drinking while Roy seemed to be highly invested in staring at his thumbs. It lasted several minutes, until Johnny couldn’t take that blank look on Roy’s face anymore. He pushed abruptly off the counter and turned toward the dirty dishes in the sink. He sank his hands in the lukewarm water and started scrubbing. 

“Johnny, about last night,” Roy said. He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t. I didn’t mean…”

Johnny held up a wet hand, felt a trail of water snake down his forearm toward his elbow. He didn’t need Roy to explain.

“It’s okay, man. I get it. You’re hurting. I know it’s rough for all of you right now.”

“No. I mean, yes, it is. But, no. It wasn’t that. It still isn’t.”

Of the two of them, John was supposed to be the incoherent one. That was always how it was. He gave up on the skillet again, dried his hands off and turned around to face Roy, only to find his partner had risen and stood close behind him. 

“You do this to me, trip my tongue up,” Roy said with a bare trace of a smile. 

“Roy, I thought you knew…”

Roy held up a hand this time, shook his head. He glanced out the window behind Johnny’s shoulder and kept his gaze there. That blank, faraway expression was back. They just stood there in silence again. Johnny had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying so many things Roy obviously didn’t want to hear.

“Last night, at dinner,” Roy said at last, steadfastly not meeting Johnny’s eye. “I was just sitting there and it hit me, like a punch. You were scooping green beans onto Chris’s plate and insisting he eat every last one. I realized at that moment I was happy.”

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, confused, but he still said nothing. 

“Joanne’s not been gone for much more than a year, and there I was, so damned happy to have the kids and you. The second I knew I was happy, it felt … it made me feel guilty and in that moment I just couldn’t take it. I wanted … I needed to not feel happy for a while.”

Oh. Johnny supposed that made some amount of sense, but that didn’t make it any less painful to hear. 

“So you went to drink yourself back to misery. Penance.”

“Penance,” Roy said with a rueful look directly at him this time, and a nod. 

“Roy,” Johnny said softly. He put his hands on Roy’s shoulders and squeezed. “I want you to listen and understand this. I’d say there are about a billion different reasons a person might feel guilty. Happiness not something anyone should feel guilty about. Not ever.”

Roy flicked his gaze to the window before he withdrew from Johnny’s grasp, only far enough to grab hold of his arms and yank him toward the kitchen door, deeper into the house. They had barely rounded the corner of the door when Roy had Johnny in the kind of hug Johnny himself had wanted to give to Roy since yesterday. Since the anniversary had hit and Roy had seemed to withdraw into himself. 

“I can’t promise I won’t sometimes feel guilty,” Roy whispered, “but I can promise I’ll always be happy, underneath it all. You make me happy, Junior.”

Junior was back, and this time it was fond, an apology for something Johnny was surprised Roy remembered. He pressed his face into Roy’s neck, breathed in the soapy clean smell, the tang of shaving foam. The telltale sign of Roy’s arousal pressed against him, made him chuckle softly and then not chuckle at all when Roy shivered at his gusting breath. He kissed Roy’s neck, buried his nose in the damp hair curling at the nape. 

“Johnny,” Roy said. 

Johnny held Roy, kissed away whatever words he’d intended to say. Roy tasted of coffee and burned pancakes and everything essential to life. The kiss started slowly, as theirs often did, just tender and relaxed re-exploration of known territory, but it grew more desperate rapidly until Johnny was dizzy with it and had to break free. He guided Roy to the stairs, and up, into the bedroom. His shirt was off and jeans unzipped before they made it halfway to the bed, and he had to laugh when he spun and found Roy already naked.

After their first uncertain fumbles, Roy had become very surefooted with this whole thing, reading up in secretly obtained gay how-to manuals and willing to practice out the many ways they could make themselves … happy together. Johnny wasn’t surprised at all to find himself flat on his back with Roy on top of him, hands roaming everywhere. Roy took Johnny’s dick in a firm grasp, stroking him impossibly harder as they kissed. Johnny moaned as Roy took him to the brink, his hips jerking into the strokes. He wanted it all.

Roy’s hand stilled and he broke out of the kiss, pulling his face back to stare into Johnny’s eyes, “Johnny, I want … I need to feel.”

Instead of finishing the thought, Roy removed his hand from Johnny’s dick, gently toyed with his balls for a moment before his fingers sought Johnny’s entrance and oh, oh, okay. They’d never, and he hadn’t been sure he wanted to. Warmth spread in his belly, and he surged up, kissed Roy’s chest, ran his hands down a strong back. Yes. Then he twisted his torso, knew if Roy had this on his mind he’d be prepared for it with the stuff they’d need. Roy’s hands shook when they accepted the lubricant and condoms. 

It was awkward and not a little uncomfortable at first, but they had love and sheer determination on their side as Roy opened him up slowly, carefully until the pain made way for pleasure. Too many sensations filled him as he rocked into Roy’s steady fingers, instinct winning out eventually over nerves, their bodies taking over. He’d had no idea, as new at this part of a physical relationship between men as Roy.

“Roy,” Johnny said, spread his legs wider, lifted them slightly and enjoyed the hell out of the desperate, lustful expression that came over Roy’s face. “Please.”

Roy withdrew his fingers, hands quaking as he rolled on a condom and applied more lube. He notched himself in between Johnny’s legs, spread his body over Johnny’s and kissed him slow and gentle. The slight friction of Roy’s hair against his sensitive cock was so amazing it hurt, but he hitched his hips up higher, wanted, wanted, gasped into Roy’s mouth when his partner’s dick nudged at his hole. 

“‘sokay,” Roy murmured, then pushed slowly into Johnny. “Ohhhmmph, John.”

It hurt, but only for a little while, and not quite as much as he’d anticipated. Roy was so, so careful Johnny felt engulfed by his love and it helped him relax into it, until Roy filled him completely. It was like nothing Johnny could have imagined, foreign and strange and also the most incredible thing he’d ever experienced. For a long while, Roy simply held himself still, applied small kisses to Johnny’s neck and shoulder and mouth again. He moved only when Johnny shifted his hips tentatively. 

Roy began an easy slide in and out of him, angled each thrust slightly different as if searching. He found. With a jolt, Johnny’s body felt on fire. Everything became a wash of sensation, hot and primal and soon he urged Roy to move faster, hit whatever spot he’d hit that made Johnny feel like he would fly apart any moment. Roy’s movements started to lose rhythm after a long while that seemed to come too soon. He leaned close, one hand trailing down Johnny’s ribcage and stomach, to wrap around his cock again. Roy kissed him open mouthed and sloppy, applied mild pressure to his cock, and that was all it took. Johnny came with a shout, barely heard Roy curse as his hips slammed forward over and over, rough until his own orgasm locked him rigidly in place above Johnny. He collapsed on top of Johnny after a moment, breathing heavily.

Johnny’s muscles felt limp and wrecked, but he managed to awkwardly run his hands up and down Roy’s back. He loved this, he decided, the weight of Roy on top of him, the slightly disgusting stickiness of semen trapped between them on his belly and chest. Last night, he’d felt terribly unlucky and unhappy because he believed Roy was. Today, wrapped in Roy’s arms and with Roy still filling him, Johnny thought maybe he was the luckiest man on the planet and he was sure he was the happiest.


End file.
